


Wet Hot French-American Summer

by thescrewtapedemos



Series: EDM PWP oneshots [2]
Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: Please forgive the title. Porter and Hugo and rimming.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkwords/gifts).



> a twitter nsfw request
> 
> enjoy! xoxo

Hotel days are rare and Hugo’s content enough with the buses, with the narrow bunks he sleeps in tight against Porter’s side. It’s enough to press stolen kisses to Porter’s mouth before shows and grind against each other in the safety of locked green rooms until they both have to waddle to the bathroom sheepishly. 

He does love hotel days, though. Hours together in the anonymity of the room with clean blankets and a bed big enough to spread Porter out on and take his time with. 

Porter lets him happily, laughs when Hugo pushes him busily towards the bed as soon as the door locks and helps to undo his fly with clumsy fingers. Removing clothes takes a long time because Hugo can’t seem to stop kissing him, kisses more laughter than tongue, Porter’s hands in his hair and cupping his cheek, the back of his neck. 

“Love you,” Porter murmurs and Hugo means to reply but Porter’s mouth is in the way and all he can do is mumble in reply, sweet noises muffled against Porter’s lips. Porter knows, anyway. Hugo’s hardly reserved in telling him so. 

Porter’s knees hit the mattress and he’s toppling backwards with a laugh that Hugo has to echo, stepping back a little just to look. 

He’s beautiful, soft with the dim light through the curtains and the unguarded sprawl he’s allowed Hugo to put him in. Legs spread to accommodate Hugo, hands lifting to reach for him. His mouth is red and wet with kisses and beautiful, he’s so beautiful Hugo can’t breathe. 

“Want you,” Hugo says and it’s clipped, almost a babble, and Porter laughs at him again. 

“C’mere, then,” he says and shuffles back further onto the bed. Hugo follows helplessly, crawls up to kneel over him. Porter looks up at him and his hair is bunched around his head, ruffled where Hugo had shoved his beanie off. He looks ridiculous and Hugo reaches out to cup his cheek and feels like his heart is about to spill out of his chest. 

“What do you want to do?” Hugo asks. 

It’s his favorite question because Porter never has an answer in words, but teasing it from him is always so good. Still so easily embarrassed by touch and having to ask for what he wants, and Hugo loves the faces he makes and the blush in his cheeks. 

Porter makes a face and shifts under him. 

“I want-,” he begins and then cuts off, face pinking. Hugo grins, dips to nose at his cheek. 

“Yeah?” he prods and Porter laughs, frustrated and still so pleased. 

“Your mouth,” he manages. 

Hugo’s halfway down his body already and reaching for Porter’s boxers when Porter’s hand catches his wrist, stopping him. He’s even redder now and he won’t meet Hugo’s eyes and Hugo watches delightedly. Porter’s acute embarrassment at articulating what he wants has always been one of Hugo’s favorite things. 

“No-,” Porter begins and then his voice dies again and he’s shifting again, still embarrassed, so beautiful and delicious-looking. Hugo grins. He’s almost certain what Porter wants and he wants to give it to him but first… he’s going to make him ask. 

“My mouth where, minou?” he asks innocently and Porter makes a noise part amused annoyance and part desperate embarrassment. 

“Dick,” he mutters and when Hugo only grins in response he sighs, looks away. He’s biting his lip, fingers bunched in the sheets, and it’s all Hugo can do to stop himself giving Porter exactly what he wants without asking.

“My ass,” Porter manages and then his hand is letting go of Hugo and covering his eyes instead, he’s so red Hugo can almost feel the heat of it. “Your mouth. Don’t be a dick, Hugo.” 

“You have to turn over,” Hugo notes and Porter growls, swats him on the arm and heaves up without bothering to let Hugo get out of the way. He kicks Hugo in the thigh in the process of turning over and it’s almost certainly on purpose but Hugo lets it slide. 

He’s on his stomach in a moment anyway, a smooth expanse of freckled shoulders and back, the curve of his spine and his hips. Hugo looks at it for a moment, lets his eyes wander until Porter shifts, a distinctive motion against the sheets and Hugo reaches out to grab his thigh and he stills. 

“Bad,” he murmurs and Porter huffs in answer. 

He makes a pleased noise when Hugo settles between his legs, arches his back when Hugo runs a hand down his spine. His boxers rustle where they brush against Hugo’s pants but otherwise Hugo can trace his skin, touch the curves of hip and waist and thigh. 

Porter moans when he presses his fingers into the soft give of his him, rolls his hips as Hugo’s hands direct him. 

“T’es beau,” Hugo murmurs and Porter moans, hips rolling again in the confines of Hugo’s grip. Hugo grins, bends to press soft teeth to the curve of Porter’s ass. The moan increases in volume, chokes off into a quiet whimper. 

“Please,” Porter murmurs and Hugo laughs, kisses the bite and leans back enough to pull his boxers free. 

Porter’s hard, Hugo can’t see it but he can smell musky arousal in the air and Porter’s hips are rolling, working himself against the sheets and suddenly Hugo wants to bite down harder. He’s done it before and Porter loves it, loves the marks it leaves behind. Hugo loves them too, loves the shiver that runs through Porter when he presses his fingers into them. 

Porter arches his back. Lets Hugo grab, squeeze the soft give of his ass. His hips are still rolling against the sheets despite Hugo’s grip and he lets it happen. He loves the little noises Porter’s making, the wordless murmur of pleasure. 

He grumbles out when Hugo lets go to sprawl out between his legs and then Hugo’s hands are back on him, spreading him open, and he cries out low and shocked and pleased. 

Hugo’s tongue flickers over Porter’s hole and Porter screams under him. 

He’s pressing back against Hugo’s hands, back a beautiful arch of thick muscle and spine. He’s pressing his face into the pillow beneath him, trying to muffle himself, but it doesn’t work. His cries escape anyway, deep and guttural and shocked even though this is the millionth time Hugo’s worked his tongue into Porter’s tight hole. 

Hugo pauses, withdraws for a moment for a panting breath and to lick his lips, chasing Porter’s earthy flavor. Porter whimpers and Hugo dips to nose against the curve of his ass again. Porter quiets, shifts under Hugo’s hands until Hugo bends back to it and his voice is rising again in a wordless cry. 

He’s shifting, rocking against the blankets and back against Hugo’s mouth. Uneasy, restless motion and he can’t stop whimpering. Confused noises, all pleasure and words that almost make it to coherency. 

They reach something like a rhythm, Porter working himself against the sheets desperately and Hugo’s hands holding him still. Working his tongue into him and then back out, fluttering over his hole. He’s louder, voice going rough, his hips faster against the blankets. Porter lets him in so easily, trusts him so much it makes Hugo’s heart beat too quickly. 

It’s effort to avoid the ache of his own hardness but he pushes it aside, rolls his hips lazily against the mattress himself and focuses on circling Porter’s hole with his tongue before pressing back into him again. 

Porter goes quiet and then groans, deep and harsh and happy and his hole tightens against Hugo’s mouth. He can smell it, almost taste Porter’s orgasm and he spends a moment longer pressing against Porter’s hole before pulling back a little to kiss the curve of his ass again. 

“Good?” he asks and doesn’t even attempt to hide the smugness in his voice. 

“Fuck you,” Porter grumbles breathlessly, muffled by the pillows. A moment later he’s shifting and Hugo lifts himself up on his elbows to see Porter’s red face peeking down at him. His cheeks are wet but there’s a smile tugging on the corners of his stubborn attempt at a frown. 

“...Yes,” he admits after a moment and Hugo laughs.


End file.
